


Falls and Ripples

by Limrevia_Morroch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ancient China, Fluff, M/M, Very AU, Wuxia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limrevia_Morroch/pseuds/Limrevia_Morroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John watched him fall... </p><p>Ancient China Wuxia settings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falls and Ripples

**Author's Note:**

> Yoohoo! This is my first attempt at writing in the Wuxia universe, which is basically ancient China martial arts setting, for those of you unfamiliar with the term. The story should be very short, a bit of fluff, a bit of crack and a bit of deductions :) Will post daily. Some of the terms might be a bit confusing later on, but I will hopefully be able to explain most of them in the End notes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoohoo! This is my first attempt at writing in the Wuxia universe, which is basically ancient China martial arts setting, for those of you unfamiliar with the term. The story should be very short, a bit of fluff, a bit of crack and a bit of deductions :) Will post daily. Some of the terms might be a bit confusing, but I will post some explanations as the next chapter.

John watched him fall.

 

It wasn't a particularly long fall, he knew, although it certainly seemed far longer while you are on the top. It wasn’t a particularly famous spot either, the fall, so he didn’t expect duels occurring every other day, although the mist and its hidden views certainly added to its lure. It’s what made him decide to settle down anyway. After his last mission… He let the thought trail off. The past was no longer important. What’s important now was that he had another idiot to save and that’s that. By luck he had seen the man fall himself this time, saved him a lot of trouble.

 

The man was not the first to fall from that cliff, nor would he be the last. There had been two others before him during the time John had decided to retire into the cozy valley. The first had been an obvious case of heart break with the damsel irreversibly wronged. Despaired of the world, the maiden had leapt to her, supposed, death. John had heard the splash as he was quite near the pond when it happened, picking herbs. By the time he made his way down the slippery path, the maiden herself had already recovered from the shock of the impact and was wading her way towards the shore. John took her in and let her recover at her own pace, both physically and mentally. They never talked much during the month or so that she was here, and he never asked about her past. They resided in peace, until one night, while the sky was particularly clear and the stars bright, she had told him her story, the anguish and pain in her words but not in her voice. Her tone was calm if not a bit tired and weary, like waking up from a particularly bad dream and recollecting all the pieces. Gradually, her story drew to an end and they had sat in silence, huddled by the fire and staring up into the heavens. Eventually, John asked her what she wanted to do. She smiled, not a delighted and carefree smile, but one for someone who had faced the worst demons and survived. She told him that she had always wanted to go and see the ocean. He told her she would make a remarkable piratress. She laughed, her voice ringing sweet and clear through the night air. The valley had soothed her pains, just like it had for John.

 

The second time it happened, John had been asleep. He was woken roughly by a commotion from the forest, he wasn’t quite sure if it was wings flapping or wolves howling. Dressing hastily and going on a hunch, he went down to the waterfall, and saw a lonely body washed to the shore, lying forlornly on the muddy banks, with a heart-wrenching stillness. It was a boy. Not very young, but definitely not old enough to have enemies that could be so cruel. He would have survived the fall, had he still been alive before he fell. In the light of day, John buried the boy. He did not pick any particular boulder or tree and decided to let nature and the magic of the valley to honor the boy’s memories. As he laid down the last shovel of soil, he knew that he would never know the story of this boy.

 

He wondered to himself as he skidded and maneuvered his way down to the pond if this man was fighting his way up to the bank like the maiden or if he would no longer be able to tell John his story like the boy. And just like the man was complicated and incredible as John would come to find out again and again in the long years to come, he stunned John for the first time they met by simply being both.

 

 

//////////

 

 

It was on the seventh day after the dark haired man fell that they got to have their first conversation. It was a conversation John would always remember.

 

The man’s eyes were slightly maniacal when he regarded him, with the madness that comes with fever shining through.

 

“You are an assassin.”

 

John stopped dead in the doorway, his blood frozen to ice upon hearing those simple words.

 

“Or were, should I say. Your demeanor and living style screamed former military, but that might have been for a mission, as your training seemed to have gone far longer than your military career. Your apparent knowledge of herbs and poisons suggested an outer member of the Tang Sect, which heavily implied that you were orphaned since a young age and raised by the sect family. Then something went wrong, or you wouldn’t have been here. Injury? Perhaps but no. A loss of someone important? More likely. But you seem the sentimental type, the feathers on your trouser legs indicate that and your choice of decor confirms it. It was for a reason, moral, most likely. Ah, so you refused a mission.” Then he launched into a coughing fit that wracked his whole body.

 

John had known that it would be too good to think that his past would never come back to haunt him, even in such a peaceful and remote place, but he honestly hadn’t expected it to be like this.

 

“How did you know all this?”

 

The man waved around a heavily bandaged hand. “I didn’t just _know_ all this. I observed. I didn’t just know.” At here, the man’s other hand came up to clench his hair in what must be a painful grip. “I don’t _know_. How did I know all that? I don’t, I don’t know _anything_!”

 

John’s healer instincts immediately kicked in as his patient began to panic and double over as if in pain, which he probably was. “Hey, sshh, ssshh. Hey, easy there.” He quickly shuffled over, and lightly pressed on the man’s sleep acupoint.

 

 

////////////

 

 

He was the strangest person John had ever met, and that’s saying something given his line of work. Previous line of work.

 

The next time the man woke, he was much calmer. During this time, John had made a few simple deductions of his own. One, the man had lost his memory, whether temporarily or more permanently, he wasn’t quite sure. And two, this memory loss was probably due to the fact that the poor guy was tortured, both physically and mentally. The second one he found out after a more careful examination of the man’s wounds, and the first one, well, he can test that.

 

“Do you remember what your name is?”

 

The question was met with narrowed eyes and a suspicious scowl. After a long pause, “Sherrinford”.

 

“You made that up.”

 

That one was met with a raised eyebrow. “No...”

 

“But?”

 

“But it’s not my name.”

 

“Do you want me to call you Sherrinford then?”

 

“No.”

 

Now it was John’s turn to raise eyebrows.

 

“There’s only the two of us here, I hardly think names matter.”

 

“Well, I’m John. John Watson.” He looked closely for any signs of recognition, surprisingly, or rather unsurprisingly, finding none.

 

 

//////////

 

 

He should have known better than to expect his unexpected visitor to be a good patient. The fact that the man was never awake for longer than a few minutes, mainly due to the herbs John fed him, has lulled him into a false sense of security.

 

Which was why he, _did not screech,_ thank you very much, when he found the man up and about, sniffing a vial of snake poison, and _about to uncork it_.

 

“Heavens! Are you daft? A drop of this and the Jade Emperor won’t be able to save you.”

 

“I wasn’t about to ingest it.” The man replied slightly sulkily, probably because he was caught snooping.

 

“How do you know it doesn’t act through skin contact, or even by _inhaling the vapour_?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t have known either way if I can’t see it.”

 

John pinched the root of his nose, why was he having this discussion? “You really shouldn’t be up and about, with a broken ankle and a sprained knee, not counting the cracked ribs and stab wounds. Why are you up anyway? Were you looking for something?”

 

“I’m bored. And I’m looking for myself, apparently.”

 

“Found anything?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Care to share?”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

John glowered. For all that the man was brilliant and brilliantly intelligent, he has the temperament of a child…

 

“Well, if you really are so interested…”

 

…and was dramatic to boot.

 

“From my choice of clothing, I was obviously a wandering swordsman from a wealthy family with little worry for money, and possibly hold some political powers. The inner layer has a distinct northern design while the outer robes were those of the region to the south of the river, alluding to affiliation to the four families up north. The fragrance bag on the belt was clearly the work of a woman, but the design is too amorous for a mother, so a lover, given as a parting gift.”

 

“So you think it might have something to do with this lover then?”

 

“No. The belt showed otherwise.”

 

“The belt?”

 

“Look, John, really look. Tell me what you see.”

 

“It’s, well it’s quite gaudy, with the jade ornaments at the front, and the weaving is more artistic than practical, so I guess that matches your wealthy background. Hmm, the inner side is quite plain though, nothing untoward and…wait a minute…”

 

“Don’t touch. It’s the mechanics to eject paralyzing needles.”

 

“You rich youngsters are certainly not stingy when it comes to your own protection. That could be a family heirloom, or maybe just bought from a specialist.”

 

“Possible, but highly unlikely, because…” Here, he did a quick series of tapping and twisting and another hidden section within the belt, which John had dismissed as an ornament earlier, opened up to reveal…

 

“Why would a mere traveling swordsman have need of a set of lock-picks, but not just any set, a very professional and very complete set of lock-picks?”

 

John frowned, a few theories going through his mind but none of them seemed to quite match up.

 

“Why indeed?”

 

“Simple. It’s a cover, all of it.”

 

“What?”

 

“Think! The fancy robes and ornaments, a clear indication of a certain social circle, but the belt was a different story. It seemed that I had wanted to pick the lock of something really badly, and could only manage by being within said social circle.”

 

“So we are back at square one then?”

 

“No…I think we might have made some progress…”

 

 

//////////

 

 

The man has the temperament of the sea. On some days he would be so quiet and motionless that John always feared the worst, and some days he was like a hurricane building up within the room that he was confined to, all restless energy, bringing havoc everywhere.

 

“But I’m bored!” The man would complain.

 

On these days, John would try to distract him, sometimes showing him the various herbs and poisons he collected over the years, sometimes, when it gets especially bad, he would relate stories from his past. Not _Those Stories_ , never those, just the funny anecdotes that people like to recollect when they start to grow old. The eccentric man would soak it all up like a sponge, and John greatly enjoyed being able to surprise him now and again.

 

“ _Sister_! You had a _sister_.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

One night, John has had just about enough when he heard a slight creak and saw that the man was trying to sneak past his bed and out of the door.

 

“Oh for heavens’ sake, at least put a coat on, you bugger!”

 

He followed the man out into the cool night air. The sky was clear with the stars shining bright. He watched the man close his eyes, face tilted slightly upwards, as he dragged in a deep breath. He then parted his lips to let the air out slowly, as if to savor the taste.

 

John watched, slightly mesmerized.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

He guessed that it’s fair enough that the energetic man needed some fresh air after being forcefully confined to a boring little hut for two weeks.

 

John tried to change the subject. “I’ve always liked the stories of the Seven Stars.”

 

“Seven Stars?”

 

For a moment, John felt confused. “You know, the Seven Stars of the North. That spoon shape up there?”

 

When the man shook his head, John felt incredulous. “Oh you are so going to come star gazing with me now. How could you not know about the Seven Stars?”

 

“It’s not important.”

 

“Of course it’s important! Here, look, that one at the front. You see, that’s the Star of the Greedy Wolf…”

 

For once, the man was a quiet listener. They stayed huddled in an alcove by the hut for hours, as John went through the constellations and their stories, just like how his mother used to when he was small. And if John occasionally stared for too long at the eyes that shone like mercurial star light, then the man did not comment on it.

 

 

//////////

 

 

John knew that the man would leave eventually, as his injuries gradually healed but his memories still would not return. The valley may provide a resting place, but in the end, it was not for someone so brilliant and so very much alive and full of energy.

 

He just did not expect it to be so sudden.

 

It was two months now since the man came into John’s life. His various wounds, internal and external, were mostly healed and his cheeks were less protruding. John did not mention anything, and surprisingly, neither did the man, but they both knew they were merely delaying the inevitable.

 

It happened on a day that John was least expecting it.

 

John was trying to teach him to fish.

 

For all that the man was intelligent and has the ability to stay motionless for hours on end, he has very little patience for “trivial things like fishing”, and declared himself to be completely bored out of his mind after an hour. John laughed at him as he brought up his second catch.

 

The man huffed then strode off in a strop, only to stop dead in his tracks.

 

He bent down to pick up a tiny yellow flower growing not far from the river bank, sniffing it. “John… What is this?”

 

“I, that’s the flower of the…”

 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence because he caught the expression on the man’s face. He could almost see all the gears turning in that constantly churning mind of his, until suddenly, it all seemed to just _click_ , as if all the pieces of a lock finally fell together, opening to reveal the treasure within.

 

“Of course, the fragrance bag. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

 

And with that, he dashed off in the direction of the hut.

 

When John reached the hut, the man was sprawled over the armchair in his typical thinking pose, the forgotten fragrance bag on the table in front of him.

 

“Did, did your memory…?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.”

 

There was a long silence as John was uncertain what to say or where to start.

 

“I need to leave.”

 

John had thought about this scenario for hundreds of times in the past months, but it still didn’t prepare him for the sudden pang of loss.

 

“Oh. Well then.”

 

The man looked at him, a tiny frown on his brows. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it at the last moment as if he thought better of it. He just nodded, instead.

 

It was as if in a dream that John helped the man pack his meager belongings. He sneaked in many vials of healing draughts and extra clothing he had made for himself over the years. He was sure the man noticed.

 

Their parting was strangely quiet as they stood at the exit to the valley, very well hidden in the complex geography.

 

The man looked at him straight in the eyes, the intensity behind that gaze terrifying.

 

“Farewell, John.”

 

“Farewell, and may you find your path in life again.”

 

The man nodded, then turned and walked off along the winding path.

 

He did not look back.

 

 

//////////

 

 

The days went by and autumn soon turned to winter. John felt the cold seep into his bones as his age gradually began to catch up with him. This winter felt colder somehow, even the fire he built and all the tea he drank would not warm him up. The hut felt hollow and empty, leaving cold draughts to chase the phantom whirl wind that seemed to follow the man’s every step.

 

Sometimes, when he ground his herbs for winter storage, he would look up from his work, a random commentary on his lips, only to realize there was no one to direct them to. He would occasionally wonder how the man was doing out there in the strange world that he no longer remember, meeting strangers who would greet him and be confused when he did not recognize them. He wondered if he had found his memories and his past. He worried about his safety.

 

Some days, when he sank his weary body into the armchair, he would think and wonder. He would wonder if the man had asked him on that fateful day, would he have agreed to leave with him.

 

It was on those days that he would admit to himself that he was lonely.

 

And it was on one of those days that he found himself sitting listlessly in front of the fire, staring emptily into the flames. The days were getting steadily colder and a particularly vicious snow storm kept him house bound for days, not that he ventured out much anymore.

 

He was just about to fetch more wood to put in the fire when he heard it. At first he thought it was an animal scratching at his door, but quickly he realized it to be the distinct rapping of knuckles on wood.

 

Heart rate speeding up, he quickly rushed to the door and wrenched it open, only to get a face full of snow and an armful of lanky limbs.

 

“Hello John.”

 

“My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

 

“I do not remember much except that and the fact that I have a very annoying older brother. I, I came back to ask you if you’d like to help me find the rest of my memories.”

 

“Could be dangerous.” He added as an incentive.

 

John felt his face split into a huge grin. He still had not let go of the other man, Sherlock, as he just said, and the man did not seem to mind.

 

“Of course I do.”

 

It seemed the world still have some adventures left for him.

 

 


	2. Wuxia terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some very brief explanations of some terms used in the fic. Hope they make sense :)

**Cliffs/Falls:** Very very cliche wuxia plot/setting. They say that the most cliche wuxia stories will most definitely have the protagonist falling off some sort of cliff and either finding some long lost treasure, or meeting someone special. Well, this is the latter case then, and a good place to start with the wuxia universe I guess.

 

 **Duels:** Happen quite often in wuxia, for a variety of reasons, e.g. revenge, sect/family/school etc animosity, treasure…

 

 **Military:** not machine guns pls. In wuxia, military refers to the sword and shield type of military, where people ride on cool warhorses. And since this is set in ancient China, wars tend to involve A LOT of people.

 

 **Tang Sect:** This mainly refers to the Tang Family in Sichuan. It is a hypothetical and rather powerful family that famous wuxia writers came up with and often alludes to. This family, or sect, specializes in using poison and mechanical weapons, like mini-hand held crossbows and arm holstered weapons (Love these. I personally think they are all very very talented engineers). When I mention “outer/inner” members, it’s because for many sects/schools, there are core members i.e. direct family or direct pupils, and other affiliated members (A bit like a family founded business that recruited other unrelated employees?). In this case, as John is not from the Tang family, he would be considered an outer member. The orphan bit is not necessary, I just made that up.

 

 **Assassins:** There’s normally some sort of organization for these, and often crop up, however they were very rarely mainstream and/or protagonists. Assassins refusing missions is another favourite cliche of mine. This is often a case of a bad guy turning good, although they very rarely end well, as the organization would normally send people after them.

 

 **Acupoint:** short for acupuncture point. They come up really really often in wuxia, it’s almost one of the most important subjects pupils at schools/sects learn. If you are not sure what acupuncture is, look it up on Google.

 

 **Jade Emperor:** Chinese mythology. People think that there is an empire up in the heavens just like down on earth. There are various deities living up there. This is a completely separate genre that I won’t go into.

 

 **Swordsman:** I’m kind of using this term to refer to anyone who does martial arts, really (although their weapon of choice doesn’t have to be a sword)

 

 **River:** I’m referring to the Long River here. Geographically, most of the fun happens to the south of the Long River.

 

 **Fragrance bags:** as said in the story, normally gifted by a woman to a man, for various reasons. There are normally some dried flowers or herbs inside, and the stitching on the bag is generally intricate and hold some sort of meaning. (e.g. two mandarin ducks normally mean some sort of love affair)

 

 **Belt:** kind of like the type you tie bathrobes with, but more intricately designed and normally not leather. Ancient Chinese people wear robe-like clothes.

 

 **Paralysing needles:** back to the Tang family theme :)

 

 **Seven Stars of the North:** referring to Ursa Major. The Star of the Greedy Wolf is Dubhe, the second brightest star in the constellation. The Seven Stars crop up a lot, mainly in superstition ba’gua, and fengshui

 

 


End file.
